


If It Takes a Lifetime

by Tsuukai



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Family Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-02-13 03:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2135283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsuukai/pseuds/Tsuukai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taiga remained as he was, watching him, before something Aomine said stole his attention away. In the back of his mind, all he could think of was the impassivity of the twelve year old and those eyes. He almost wants to reach over and ruffle the perfectly sitting straight black hair, but he does not know where it comes from.</p><p>And then decides, <em>what the fuck</em>, and he does as he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 **Author’s Note:**  So someone did that on my Tumblr account, and well, I don’t (?) really do requests—someone has to be there to request them, right?—but since I’ve been getting mixed “vibes” on _Letters of Submittal_ , I’ve decided to give you this impromptu 4K+ nonsense I came up with. OTL

Hmm, so here’s the check-list I followed, Anonymous-san:

 **AoKaga** …(cuffed & chained these very busy characters, & made my way with _them)… **check**._

 **Children** …(throws in characters already there but messed with their _ages)… **check**._

 **Something angsty** …(throws in _problem)… **check**._

 **But not angst** …(throws in _fluff)… **check**._

 **Not Angsty** …(*scratches head* didn’t I already throw something in for this? Throws some more _not-angsty)… **check**._

Well, I hope this came out right.

* * *

 

Tetsuya comes home that day, as blue as his eyes, and pouts ferociously without saying a word. He deposits his bag near the coffee table as was the custom, and goes to sit at the kitchen counter, chin barely reaching the table. Taiga would have said something if he had noticed, but when he does, his first reaction is to scream.

“Tetsuya,” he cringes, clutching at his chest. “I told you not to scare me like that. When did you come home? Are you forgetting your greetings again?”

Tetsuya pouts even more. “I called out, but you didn’t reply.”

Taiga instantly frowns, going to kneel besides the sulking six year old. “I’m sorry, Tetsuya. Want to try again?”

Powder blue hair gets blown out of his face as Tetsuya nods. “Tadaima,” he murmurs, and when Taiga replies, a light blush tinges his cheeks. Amused at the expression, Taiga ruffles his head and goes back to cooking.

“Come and help me make dinner. Wash—” he does not manage to complete his sentence one, because Tetsuya has already moved to take the stool at the sink to wash his hands, and two, because the front door slams with a bang and thudding footsteps signal the arrival of the middle child.

“I’m home!!!” Taiga quickly pushed the knife away as he is tackled from behind, and he laughs regrettably (since there’s nothing he has tried that changes it), hugging the blonde boy back. “Are you already cooking?! I’ll come help.” He does not wait, already snapping his head to where Tetsuya is drying his hands, and he rushes towards him. “Tecchi! I’ll be helping you guys!”

Ryōta and Tetsuya clash in a makeshift hug that has the younger boy’s arms trapped by the older and taller boy.

“Ryōta,” Tetsuya says in his lacklustre way, “You’re home. Rather, are you already trying to get on my nerves?”

“Geh!” Instantly Ryōta moves away, and the Tetsuya prods at him while he is washing up, not looking as if it was the younger child teaching the older one, and Taiga chuckles behind a closed fist, turning his face away to not be caught.

Soon, the three of them are arms deep into dinner preparations, Taiga keeping most of his attention on the children, a third of it going into guiding them, and whatever remained on the food. Barely once did he even glance at the watch across the living room.

Ryōta, even though playful, spent much of his time trying to show off to his younger brother, and then showing off to Taiga, and then he would proceed to studiously watch the next step in order to copy the movements. Every time he got it right, Taiga would praise him, and every time he was missing the parts, Taiga would nudge him. All in all, he did not pay attention to the glum faced Tetsuya.

A quarter past seven, Taiga looks at the living room door as it opens softly. A dark head pops out, hair in disarray, and cheeks flushed. Simpering, head bowed in cowering motions, a boy who came up to his chest stood, arms held behind his back.

“I’m home,” is almost whispered.

Taiga tries not to show signs of concern. He bites his lip slightly, forces himself to smile winsomely and greets cheerily, “Welcome home, Tatsuya.”

“Welcome back, Tacchi!” Ryōta screams from one side.

“Welcome home, Tatsuya-nii,” Tetsuya echoes.

Tatsuya nods, then goes back outside towards his room in the same silent fashion. Taiga stares at his back, worried, before he resumes cooking the last few side dishes.

“You cook too much,” Ryōta finally decides to complain. Taiga smacks his head on passing, and Tetsuya jabs him in the ribs. He shares a smile with the blue eyed boy, and watches the little head duck and turn away. Taiga’s eyebrows slowly rise.

In a few minutes, Tatsuya returns to the kitchen, arms once again behind his back, and asks in just as small of a voice, “Do you need any more help?”

Taiga turns, smiling, this time not requiring to stop himself from being too forceful. “Sure! Why don’t you get your brother and help set the table. You can those dishes first, okay?”

Tatsuya nodded. He came to his younger siblings first, raising Tetsuya off the stool by placing his hands under his armpits and out him on the floor. Ryōta dutifully replaced the stool. The three chatted as quietly as Ryōta allowed them to amongst themselves and Taiga, listening in to whatever he could, felt a little left out.

The doorbell ringing caused him to grin; nonetheless, taking his time to place the chopping board and knife into the sink, remove his apron, and casually walk to the door. On opening it, a dark haired man, wearing a ruffled suit with its jacket dragging on the floor, head leaning against an arm resting on the doorjamb, groaned out, “Hungry…”

“Get in you loser,” Taiga helped the man in, taking the dusty jacket in one hand, and steadying the floundering man with another. “Aomine, you’re a pathetic working man.” The door automatically closed shut, the lock clicking in place, but Taiga watched it anyway. There were children in the house now.

Aomine follows him inside, dropping onto the first available seat that happens to be the dining table, three children rushing to him. “Dad!” they all call out. Taiga whimsically watched, before he placed Aomine’s things away.

“Ah, I’m hungry,” Aomine repeats, probably for the sake of his children, and they all at once are ready to help him get served. Only the rice though, was left to Taiga who brought the cooker closer. He starts to fill up the _chawanmushi_ bowls, handing them out to the ever pleasing Ryōta (only because Tetsuya was still too short to do so) and they all sit down to eat. A bowl later, and Aomine has regained his strength to ask questions.

“What did you guys do today?”

Ryōta jumped first. “Ne, ne!” He waves the hand holding his chopsticks in the air, but a courteous Tatsuya brings it back down. The elder boy resumes chewing, looking into his bowl. Tatsuya on the other hand, is already glaring. “We got to fill out our questionnaires today, of where we want to go this summer during camp.”

“Summer camp?” Aomine already sounds burdened. “I thought you said you didn’t want to go?”

“But they asked us where _we_ want to go!” Ryōta pouted, then clenched the tips of the chopsticks in his teeth. Tatsuya habitually corrected him.

“Let him go,” Tetsuya pouted around his food. Taiga glanced over, saw how the child was separating his meal into parts, and scowled. Feeling eyes on him, Tetsuya glanced up before hurried looking away, furiously chomping on his morsels. Luckily their father was at home which meant Tetsuya got a 75 to 25 odds to get away with being a picky eater.

Aomine sighed, elbowing Taiga’s arm and handing him his empty bowl. “Okay, okay. We’ll see.”

Ryōta grinned.

A silence settled around the table again, so Tatsuya spoke up. “Tetsu-chan,” soft blues looked up. “Don’t you have to tell them anything?”

Taiga caught Aomine’s eyes as the bowl switched hands, and the darker man started his second helping. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Tetsuya grumbled. It was an unlikely story, so Taiga placed a heavy palm on the boy’s head, patting it comfortingly. “…Kazunari-sensei said that he would probably be leaving the school.”

Aomine gasped. Taiga did not understand; _maybe a favourite teacher?_

“Where’s the Takao brat going?” _Or maybe not_ , Taiga glanced at Tetsuya from the corner of his eye, shovelling food like he was on autopilot, and there really was no need for him to breathe.

“On an adventure.” The silence that followed his statement was echoed by the choking Taiga suffered from swallowing his food wrong. Aomine smacked his back a couple of times, distracted, still staring at his son, while Tatsuya hurried and poured him a glass of water, gingerly pushing the tumbler closer to him. Taiga tried to look dignifiedly grateful for it, wheezing, coughing, choking, and at the same time smiling while tearing, before he downed the whole glass.

“An…adventure?” If even Ryōta found it incredulous, then there was something wrong with this picture. Taiga desperately wanted to ask, but he did not know how.

Tetsuya nodded solemnly, not touching his food. Taiga was worried that this turn of events was going to become the source of anorexia in a child that already ate so little. In the course of weeks, Taiga was already at his wits end with the child’s eating habits, besides the only other flaw of him being way below his radar on a day-to-day basis; he already thought that was inexcusable of him.

The conversation continued around the table, Ryōta wanting to know where this ‘Kazunari-sensei’ was heading off too, and Aomine wondering what possessed the boy to spin that tale, and Tatsuya…Tatsuya was staring straight at him.

The minute their eyes met, Tatsuya blinked steel olive green eyes away.

Taiga remained as he was, watching him, before something Aomine said stole his attention away. In the back of his mind, all he could think of was the impassivity of the twelve year old and those eyes. He almost wants to reach over and ruffle the perfectly sitting straight black hair, but he does not know where it comes from.

And then decides, _what the fuck_ , and he does as he wants, reaching over the table easily enough, large hand aiming for the dark haired boy who was now anticipating the hand to smash him. As he rested his palm slowly and gently, Taiga could feel the silky strands easily move around and interlacing with his fingers. Under the tips of his fingers he can feel the slight tremors of the pre-teen. He holds his sigh in his chest and tilts his head to the side as he smiles at Tatsuya.

“What about you?” He asks, “What did you do today?”

There is a lull in the on-going conversation, Aomine darting his eyes at him, then to Tatsuya; Ryōta was studiously watching Taiga, still chewing at the tips of his chopsticks; Tetsuya is once again glum but this time, there is a certain profound concentration the child keeps on his plate even as he moves the food in a clockwise rotation.

Tatsuya is at a loss for what to say. His mouth moves, Taiga can see that, but no words actually pass his lips. A daze flitters across his blank visage until he blinks up at the hand on his head.

When he does manage to string out loud the words, “…The usual,” is the soft answer.

As though the food he ate were bricks, they settled at the bottom of his stomach, weighing down his muscles and his arm lost the strength to be held atop of the dark hair. Suddenly the food was unpalatable and whatever he want to eat looked far worse, and Taiga just could not breathe.

He pushes away from the table—does not remember if he excuses himself or not—and blindly follows a newly familiarised path to the bedroom. He shuts the door behind him, sliding down when his feet give way and he holds his face in his arms, resting bent elbows on bent knees.

Taiga cries in what feels like ages.

 

* * *

 

 

Daiki makes the children finish their meal whether they want to or not, despite the obvious glare he receives from the baby of the family and then later the sharp jab in the ribs when he makes the kid help wash the dishes. Ryōta grumbles a lot about it, but he stays to eat as much as he can, saying, “The food’s too good to waste” as he had been taught. Daiki appreciates the bravado of the middle child and fondly grabs his around the waist to hoist him up and throw him on the sofa. The blond fake screams before cheering and putting on the TV, determinedly staying still and staring at cartoons Daiki knows he does not like watching. Tatsuya packs up the next day’s lunch boxes with what remains, the extra food going into Tupperware and shelved in the fridge, cleans the table, and then finally heads to the coffee table where he starts to browse through his siblings books for their homework. There is a slight scuffle with Ryōta—“I did my homework in school.” “I’m not an idiot, Ryō, I can see the blank spaces here. And where is your daily record book? You know you’re supposed to bring it home. And your gym clothes. Ryōta! What _is_ this?!”—before Tatsuya heads off to bring his own books to work on while Ryōta and Tetsuya do theirs in the living room.

Daiki stands at the open doorway of the room, beaming.

The scene of his three children sitting at the dining table, working together in a makeshift harmony, makes his heart swell with pride and joy, but also longing as his eyes drift to the closed door down the corridor. He refrains from sighing and distracting the children, opting to head to the bedroom himself. Gripping on the door handle, he is surprised it does not budge.

“Oi, Taiga?” He calls out.

There is slight shuffling _and is that sniffling_ before the door opens. Daiki passed through, eyes trailing at the broad back that is heading to the adjoined bathroom, and he quickly grabs hold of one swinging arm.

“Taiga?” Red eyes with splotchy skin tight around them, dark red hair in the dim room shadowing his face. “Taiga, were you crying?”

Daiki is a little stunned, but not stunned as well. It might have been a long time coming for Taiga to react this way, though still later than he thought the man would last, so he reels him into his arm and hugs him. They stay attached, Taiga raising his arms no more delicately than he has been over the few short weeks, fingers gripping into the back of his dress shirt. Daiki knew he must be exuding the worse of smells at the moment even then it did not stop Taiga from taking deep calming breaths as he breathed into the junction of his neck.

He could feel the other relax, muscles coming undone, and he tries to speed up the process by gently massaging the strained back and neck. Taiga sighs into his shoulder.

“I thought…I almost…back there.” Disjointed, disappointed, disgust and anger. The mulch of the emotions swirled in the air around them, between them, and Daiki would lie about him feeling the same if it would make things better. But it did not.

Daiki increases the pressure of his hold, wanting to take Taiga into his body and keep him safe from harm, both from outside and from inside, but he knew it was impossible.

“We’ll get through this,” he says instead. “You know we will. We always have.”

Taiga chuckles hollowly. “Yea, that’s what you’ve always been saying, and that’s what everybody always says about us. But this, Aomine…”

Daiki clicked his tongue, cuffing the redhead’s ass. “I told you, it’s Daiki now.”

Taiga tensed all over again. “I can’t even get your name right, how am I supposed to…” He pulled away, looking Daiki in the eye. “How am I supposed to act with the kids when they just keep looking at me as if I’ll break?!”

Daiki frowned. Making sure he held onto his arms, he kept Taiga in place as he repeated what he had been repeating to the man for the past few weeks. “You will get better. And you will get strong. You won’t break, and they won’t break you. Taiga—”

Taiga pushed away from him, shaking his head for a few seconds before he brought both hands up to it and moaned in discomfort. Daiki immediately went up to him but his advancement was stopped with a hand against his chest.

“I’m- I’m fine. It just hurt because I was shaking it.” Taiga heaved a sigh, heading to the bed and sitting on it, looking down. Frustrated with the man before him, Daiki stepped forward and grabbed his chin as forcefully and gently as he could—a trial in and of itself—and glared into defeated eyes.

“You fucking stop being depressed about this, you can’t do anything about what you’ve lost—”

“Those were probably the most precious memories I’ll ever have, Ao-D-Daiki.” Tears trickled from one eye, flowing midway before they dried up. then a few more sprouted, filling against his waterline and with every blink, released them to wet his lashes and his cheeks. Daiki used one hand to wipe them away, hating their existence now that he can see it versus his relief when he found out that Taiga was finally shedding his sorrow and restlessness.

“I know,” he agreed.

“I- I don’t know what Tetsuya looked like as he learnt how to walk,” Taiga’s voice took on a sense of awe, eyes wide, imagining it probably, “The look of triumph in that face of his, and even maybe pouting if he fell before he reached one of us.”

“You,” Daiki cut in. “He walked, okay, more like tumble-rolled his way to a stop into _your_ waiting arms.” Taiga chuckled, chest heaving.

“Or what was our little troublemaker’s first words. I seriously can’t imagine it being anything cute.”

“Ish,” Daiki laughed, a little tear slipping out from the corner of his eye as he laughed at the memory. “He used to use sounds more than words.” Then taking a childish tone and a mean pout, “ _I want ish. Niish. Taish. Daish._ Like what was he on?! And now, all he says is, Tecchi and Tacchi, and Midorimacchi, and whatnot.”

Taiga laughed, reaching his own hand to wipe the wetness on his face. “ _Taish_ , _Daish_ , huh?” He smiled, blinking. “When did he finally call us properly?”

“When that _Midorimacchi_ finally got some sense into him and stopped him from committing social suicide. At least it’s a little better now.”

Taiga looked up at him questioning. “What is it now?”

Daiki held his breath. _Wasn’t Ryō calling him…_ “Tatsuya was the only sane child, I think,” he said instead, keeping his smile. Taiga must have noticed it because he looked away and then back at him, grinning.

“Don't you mean precocious?”

Daiki laughed.

“I want to love them.”

And Daiki stopped laughing abruptly. He looked down at Taiga who was staring at his crotch like it held all the answers, and normally, Daiki would have agreed that it did, but now, he easily manoeuvred Taiga’s head against his abdomen and stroked his head carefully.

“I want to be able to look at them and know instantly everything they are thinking,” Taiga mumbled. “Ah, today Tetsuya was ignored so I’ll make him some vanilla milkshake. Oh, Ryōta was probably smacked around by someone for being so glittery, so I should probably give him a few extra hugs today. Eh, why’s Tatsuya being so moody already? Don’t tell me there’s a girl in his class that he likes? Something like that.”

Daiki stopped stroking his head, turning to look at the bedroom door he had forgotten to close after him, catching the sight of three pairs of wobbly eyes. Tatsuya, Ryōta and Tetsuya stood in a cluster, holding one or the other, and were practically shaking with emotions they did not know how to express but in tears. Daiki signalled for them to come in, and hesitant—as if he was making them walk on hot coals—they tiptoed closer to the bed.

Taiga, unawares, was continuously mumbling about the things he wanted to be able to do without asking what he should do. The place where Daiki stopped stroking was still protruding slightly, bruised and inflamed, and something that could hardly be seen was the cause of so much grief.

“-and it would never have happened if I just stayed, you know?” Taiga ended his emotional rant, Daiki one part guilty for not hearing him out properly.

“I’m not precocious.”

The words made Taiga stiff in his arms. Detangling from him slowly, Taiga blinked up at him first, then at Tatsuya who was, an occurrence so familiar as the days have been adding up, pouting.

“What’s _souchuu_?” Ryōta asked, sniffing.

“ _Sōjuku_ , idiot,” Tetsuya corrected. “What does it mean?”

Tatsuya sighed, placing on hand to his temple, and looking at the men near the bed. “Are you sure you want to call me that now?”

A smile cracked up onto Taiga’s lips. Daiki watched as the lips stretched and stretched, and then a full blown grin encompassed his face before he was laughing loudly. The boys watched the redhead too, eyes rounded and mouth dropping softly. Daiki too almost tearing as he heard the magical sound of Taiga laughing.

“Its been weeks,” Tatsuya whispered. “Three weeks since you’ve laughed like that.”

Taiga sobered up fast, though, and Daiki felt his grip his pant legs where his hands touched.

“I…didn’t know what to say when you came home from the hospital. Dai-tō said you bumped your head and your bruising was putting stress on your memory centre and, and…” He looked to be straining himself. “What the hell does all that mean? Were we so easy to forget?!”

Daiki had no time to even brace himself before he was unceremoniously pushed away and Taiga, like a lumbering beast, lunged at the three shaking but standing their ground as the eldest spoke what was on their minds.

“No!” Taiga hollered. “You are not easy to forget!” He held the three young bodies close to his own. Daiki watched, one part amused, another wanting in on this action. His fingers itched to grab hold of the four men in his life that literally brought him to his knees. He jerkily starts to make his way to them, pausing briefly here and there to remind himself to breathe, and _was that tears he could feel_ , and he just wanted to—

“I don’t need my memories to tell me that I love you,” Taiga reverently whispered in the huddle. Daiki paused behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. “I don’t need them for that. I love you even though according to my most recent twenty-year old memories, I was just meeting your disgruntled father. I was just starting to love him. But now, apparently twelve years down that line, I’ve got three beautiful reasons why I’m still alive and happy, maybe a little banged up and useless now, but oh still very much happy that you can still look at me and think of me as—”

“Tai-chichi,” Ryōta mumbled. “You’re our Tai-chichi. And you’ll always be that to us. Even if you don’t remember us!” And the blond continued to bawl and sob and hiccup, even when Tetsuya gutted him for sneezing snot onto him, Ryōta did not care. He clutched Taiga tightly.

“We’ll remember for you, Tai-tōchan,” Tatsuya sounded like he was swearing a blood oath and heads would be rolling if no one followed through. Taiga, not recognising the chill for what it did to Daiki, laughed and tousled dark hair, bringing the head closer so he could plant a sweet kiss to the boy’s forehead. Taiga did this to the inconsolable Ryōta and the jittery Tetsuya, and he laughed and laughed and hugged them tight.

As hysterical as Taiga was becoming, Daiki grinned along, making good of his own desire to get into the huddle, squeezing in from the side and grabbing as much as he could into the hold. “Geez. I miss this shit.”

“Tōchan,” Tetsuya said a minute later, being stuck under Daiki’s arm, “You stink. Please let go and have a bath. I can’t breathe.”

And they laughed, even when Daiki ambushed Tetsuya and declared he was going to bathe with him, hopefully end up sharing his filthy smell. Tetsuya cried, begged for help but when Ryōta ran after them with a knightly mission, Tetsuya kicked the blond child and started muttering whatever _sutras_ he knew.

Taiga watched the three idiots in his life, still grinning, feeling a tonne off his shoulders when a brief tug on his shirt caused him to look at Tatsuya. “Hmm?”

“Even if it takes you a lifetime to remember, please don’t forget about us now.”

Taiga pursed his lips, eyebrows scrunching, and he took the pre-teen into his arms, definitely almost smothering the life out of him.

“Never. I will never let this happen again.”

Tatsuya giggled a soft, floating bell sound. “Well, I guess your head is not so thick after all,” he said, a small hand coming to his cheeky mouth. “No more head-butting anything that isn’t a pillow,” Taiga was admonished.

Standing up and glaring, arms akimbo, he said, “Well, what do you know about pillows? I’ll show you how deadly they can be!” And he hurried for one of the pillows on the bed, snatched it up and raised it high above his head. “Think these are soft, do you?!” he demanded.

Tatsuya grinned, laughing. He started to make his way out, maybe hide himself with the father who was looking to be a saint compared to the redhead looming above him. He cried, mockingly, “Beware! It’s the attack of the Titans!”

“What?!” Ryōta cried, rushing out of the bathroom nude. Daiki followed to pull him back when he saw Taiga and the pillow. “Are we playing Attack on Titan now?!”

“Ryō, before _we_ do anything, please put on some clothes,” Tatsuya beseeched, running past him. Taiga took a second to glare at Daiki who was laughing.

“Is that what you guys are calling pillow fights nowadays? Attack on Titan?”

“Can I be a three meter giant?” Tetsuya asked from behind him.

Taiga jumped up, clutching his chest and roaring out, feeling his head ached as the blood rushed upwards, “Tetsuya!!! How many times do I have to tell you to _stop scaring me?!!_ ”

Tetsuya clicked his tongue. “I think we need another shifter. This one’s broken.”

“That’s it, you little shit!”

Before he could launch himself onto the little phantom of their family, Tatsuya and Daiki grabbed him, staring at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“You…you don’t remember Attack on Titan?!”

“Eh?” Ryōta sounded instead of Taiga. “What are you saying…eh?” He stopped, amber gold eyes wide. “You don’t?!” Ryōta pushed against all of them, a one-child-stampede, to the television set. He put the appliance on and glared over his shoulder. “what are you waiting for?! Put Tai-chichi on the sofa and let the education begin! This is basphemis!”

“Blasphemous, you mean,” Daiki acknowledged, nodding while at the same time dragging Taiga to the sofa. “We need popcorn. Someone put off the bathroom lights and then come put off these lights.”

“Why are you ordering us around?” Tatsuya asked, moodily. “As the adult, you need to get the popcorn and the lights. Not make us walk around in the dark with something hot.”

“Are you kidding me?!”

“Can someone,” Taiga cut in, almost terrified as the lights went off, “please tell me what is going on?”

 

* * *

  

 **Author's Note** : I hope that went over well. Really hope so O.O

Today's also my last day of work this summer. So I'll probably get back to publishing the rest of the stories I've kept on the back burner these few weeks. Sorry about that!!


	2. Outstretched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **There is a sort of surrealism to being here, like he should know where the two of them were, know the child refusing to budge from under the encumbering debris of a building he cannot recall.**

 

* * *

 

The eyes staring at him from under grimy bangs speak of distrust and weariness, a sort that he has seen only on his aged lieutenant's face than it should from a child that could not even be past six. As it were, stretching further than his arms can reach, Taiga grunts with exertion. "You have to give me your hand, kid, if you want me to pull you out safely." He knows he is the worst for this job—children always shirk away from him when he is the one talking to them—but he was alone here, happening across the dilapidated building and its subsequent collapse on his way back home. He had called out, in case there were any homeless people squatting, and had pulled out two of them; one bruised lightly on his side, while the other was flat-out unconscious. Taiga only noticed the child when he heard the slight scuffling underneath his cautious walk, otherwise he was sure not to have bothered looking under his feet more than necessary.

The child, steel olive green eyes watching him silently, refused to unfurl himself to stretch gangly thin arms towards Taiga. In fact, with whatever space that remained for him, the child scooted backwards if possible, bare filthy toes with chipped nails curling into the ground. As though Taiga could capture him if he so wished by pulling at the little human's scrawny, scratched up legs. Despite the situation, Taiga's eyes took in every detail he could, arm dropping with fatigue to the ground, fingers scant touching the curled toes. The child huffs in a breath in the stifled dusty enclosure, and Taiga is half surprised that the little one is not choking or feeling faint.

And that just answers a lot of his theories as to why the kid is even under this rubble, staying stock still, scared of coming out into the mild, late afternoon light. The sun was almost setting, and his back alerts him of a twinge at his awkward position on the jagged hard dirt floor. His mind on the other hand, is calm unlike how he knows he would have been, and the heart in his chest beats in staccato, uneven, just like the breath in his lungs. There is a sort of surrealism to being here, like he should know where the two of them were, know the child refusing to budge from under the encumbering debris of a building he cannot recall.

And in his head, the stare of that child is so familiar, but his mind is telling him that the look behind it is different; is wrong.

_"He's not supposed to look like that,"_ something informs him.  _"He has no reason to look like that anymore."_

Taiga stares further in the dimmed little enclosure, fingers stiffening into claws, inching to reach a little more towards the child, when the sturdy feeling under his crouched legs slip and suddenly, vertigo hits.

And Taiga awakes in a room he vaguely recognises, panting harshly, hand on his chest, fingers gripping the material it holds captive; his eyes take in the only familiar set of pictures donning the surfaces of a dark wood chiffonier but everything else before him looks new, different.

Then he realises that the hand on his chest is not his, and trailing haphazardly to stare into darkened blue eyes, he sees Aomine.

Or at least, someone who looks staggeringly closely related to Aomine Daiki.

“Aomine…?” Taiga is confused.

Blue eyes twitch, narrowing, and slowly, the dark skinned man who is nigh blending in the shadows of the room, nears his hunched form. “Taiga…calm down, just breathe; inhale through your nose, and exhale out your mouth, okay? Long and deep breaths,” he instructs.

Taiga does not miss the name he was called by, and the familiar way the other was collecting him in his arms, smoothing his shirt down his back, patting his chest in the front in a steady, repetitive motion. He does not miss how his body is pulsing in return, as though he should recognise and be comfortable with this behaviour.

“Aomine…?” He calls again, for lack of anything better to do at the moment. He feels slightly disoriented, sitting on a bed with someone who looks like an older version of Aomine Daiki, a man he had, if he can recall in this split second, just started skirting around the issue of their possible mutual feelings.

Aomine’s eyes crinkle, and the corners of his mouth try to pinch upwards in a familiar smirk, but it takes a few scant seconds too long, and Taiga can already tell there is pain hiding behind that facial expression. “You feelin’ better?” The other asks, voice soft in the dark.

Taiga nods mutely.

Aomine takes in a breath—forced calm—and turns to move off the bed. As Taiga’s eyes trail after him, the other man pretends that he was not just sharing his bed. The idea makes Taiga frown (not because he does not know this old man or his relation with Aomine Daiki) but that Taiga is annoyed that the man tries to keep the pretence.

He glances down at his clenched hands, a little confused, calming down from an adrenaline high of falling in his dreams, and tries to remember what happened just before he went to bed.

Surely it should not be so difficult unless of course, something happened with his last meeting with Aomine, and Taiga went drinking in seedy bars only to follow a man who _surprisingly and suspiciously_ looks like Aomine Daiki, ten years plus.

The door to the room makes a sound, shifting out of its placement in the doorjamb, and then, with a creaking that should be checked sooner rather than later Taiga thinks, a dark head pops around its opening.

Steel olive green eyes in a worried furrow stare right at him.

Taiga balks while breathing and taking in the sight.

The child from his dream, _only_ , he amends, _unmistakably older now_.

“Tatsuya,” his lips already move, saying a name he cannot remember, but his mouth has said enough times to remember it instead. Taiga frowns again, wondering why he has muscle memory to depend on rather than any actual working memory to rely on.

“Tai-tōchan?”

The title was enough to give Taiga a jerking reminder of what it was he had been trying to remember.

His eyes automatically find the other man who had moved away, wide shouldered back facing him, head slightly bowed as a hand held a smartphone up. As pretentious as Taiga remembers the twenty year old Aomine Daiki, this older Aomine Daiki is just as so. And Taiga can tell the curved lines of the back he sees is the back of a man who is hurt but unable to do anything about it.

“Aomine…” he mumbles to himself, even though the child at the door hovers a few seconds, glancing between the two men in the room, before he stumbles in. A smaller head, blond this time, peeks blearily, still half-way asleep.

“Tai-tōchan,” a voice at his elbow says, and with the near heart-attack inducing stiffening, Taiga whips his head to the source.

“Tetsuya! _How many times_ —!” The words stop short as though robbed from his mouth. A scene almost plays out in his head, but he cannot grasp it with his mental ghost fingers. Instead, outside his head, he watches as powder blue strands flit on a small head as its owner struggles to climb on top of the bed.

“No fair, Tecchi,” the blond whines, stumbling in a seemingly crooked but determined line towards the bed, held straight by the firm hand of the older boy who had entered first; ‘Tatsuya’ he sounds in his head. The lithesome blond easily flounders around at the base of the bed, crawling the distance, and like the sneaky ninja the youngest had, flops his head on Taiga’s lap. “Wanna sleep with Tai-chichi too.”

Easily, as his body was doing all the recalling for him, his hand perambulates along the soft long locks on the blond child. “Ryō you have your own bed,” he is saying, and it comes to a point where all this feels like an out of body experience. Again.

“Yes, Ryōta, you have your own bed,” the little one (‘Tetsuya’ his lips pronounce for him, soundless) mocks.

‘Ryōta’ sticks out his tongue, nuzzling Taiga’s covered knees.

“Guys, how’s Dai-tōchan going to sleep if you take up the bed?” Tatsuya says.

Taiga purses his lips. One part of him wants to quip “ _On the floor, where else?”_ and the other is repeating in alarm “ _D_ _ai-tōchan?!”_

Something happened in the span of him going to sleep and waking up. Something he cannot remember, and something everyone in this room and otherwise, knows but not him.

Something that is making the other man in the room stay faced away, not moving.

As though the veil from his sleep-clouded mind parts, Taiga tries his luck.

“…Daiki?”

A twitch in the shoulder but no other movement.

“Daiki,” Taiga calls, louder, firmer; confident. Tatsuya, by this time, walks further in, hovering in a near manic state but still soundless. A dim yellow eggshell coloured light from a lamp he did not see first bathes a bare shaking left fist of the older child, and his long crooked shadow, bending across the door ajar and the adjacent wall—covers the man the teenager was just calling _Dai-tōchan_. “Daiki, I’m not calling you again.”

The man turns, face devoid of telling emotions. But that in of itself tells Taiga more than any words would, what the other was holding back. And this becomes a trigger, pulls the last remaining stopgap in his allusive memories, and some colourful sequences of the past few days brightens up his clouded, grey mind.

The next breath Taiga takes feels lighter, fresher, and the children on his lap, curling small fists in the duvet covering him, feel warm and home. _Home_ , his mind supplies, a word he hardly remembered using—if he was still twenty. If Aomine Daiki was still twenty.

“I’m sorry.” A painful grimace laces the edges of dark features, and this older Aomine takes two large strides and is sitting almost flush against Taiga, holding onto his body. The heat Taiga feels is different, but familiar, but different. It pools in his groin, it warms his chest; it makes his head feel light. The arms around his torso are tight, edging uncomfortable, before the words Aomine says registers.

“Idiot, don’t be sorry, I’m—” Aomine hides his face in the nook of his shoulder, breath warm against his skin, making Taiga lean into the hold. “I’m the idiot, I just didn’t want you to—”

The huff of exasperation was not from his mouth; Tatsuya bumps the mattress with his knees, hands on slim teenage hips. “You are both idiots.” He glares with one steel olive green eye at each of them. “Now make place; I’ve an exam tomorrow and staying up really isn’t helping me.”

Aomine mutters something darkly, but out loud whines, “You have your own bed.” Taiga figures that Ryōta must have learnt that manner of speech from Aomine.

“Of course I do,” is the quip, and Taiga is chuckling louder than he knows he should, but seeing older Aomine being told by this cheeky teenager… it felt warmer than it should, and a reminder of something he would have missed if those eyes were not on him again. He does not know what makes him, but Taiga reaches out an arm towards the teenager, and for one fretful second, Tatsuya stills.

Then, as though the edges of the dark enclosure Taiga recalls in his dream shatter to fall at the dirt on the ground where he had slipped, fingers curled in a motion to reach out at the child, Tatsuya reaches out with a bare-visible shaking hand and grasps Taiga’s outstretched one. The thin digits clenches tightly in Taiga’s large hand.

Tatsuya’s mouth twitches, lips curving sweetly into a smile that Taiga easily reciprocates. “Thanks,” Tatsuya mutters, soft, and like a hidden message, Taiga understands why.

The smile on his lips elongates and takes over.

They sleep in a tangle of five pairs of limbs, all over each other, and Tatsuya needs to be taken to school in a patrol car because he is going to be late for that exam of his.

“You have your own bed,” the older Aomine Daiki mumbles in the morning, a reverberation of the previous night, struggling with his tie with a bag under his arm, his coat over said arm, and glaring sideways.

Tatsuya laughs, trotting both their breakfasts, following close behind with an elegant canter. “Of course I do.”

As the teenager shuffles out, he throws back a greeting to the three still inside, grinning from ear to ear, beauty spot emphasizing the lone twinkling eye staring straight at him.

Taiga follows suit.

 

* * *

 

 

**Author’s Note:** So…after my terrible February, I was reassigned tasks at work, and I got a little sense of amnesia after a brain insult/injury.

I met with a pretty young woman, married, with kids from her husband’s second marriage (go figure) and survived a major boating accident last summer. Now, having “retrograde amnesia” [from around the time before she met the kids to when she had the accident], as well as “anterograde amnesia” [where she can’t recall episodic memory of the day]…came this story.

Only, I’m not too sure if I want to label Kagami as having “global amnesia” yet. Yet. The woman reminded me of ‘If It takes a lifetime’, and honestly she has a better grasp of her surroundings now, and if she doesn’t wake up suddenly, she is less disoriented and can remember that her life is different now, but otherwise it takes a while for her to get her bearings. Usually she remembers only the husband and the littlest one, but can’t recall the three kids (not like they seem to care, though, so it feels more awkward…).

:(

If I feel like going through the motions…I might write something more. [And to think this was supposed to be a back story of how Kagami’s accident came about, and how they have these three kids…sheesh.]

It took me ages to edit this despite me finishing 75% of this in February. February really was a terrible month.


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